As many of my readers know, I’m pretty strong in my faith. Even with all the crap that has come at me via adoption, my health, miscarriage and other bad lots of luck, I’ve managed to hold on to some inkling of faith. I enjoy my time in church, my time with God.

But man, sometimes. SOMETIMES, I still want to shake my fist at God.

Choir practice was last night. It’s the only time that I’ve been having adult interaction the past two weeks (other than my gynecologist, mmm) due to my severe nausea. We were singing through new songs to pick out some good stuff for the end of our “year.” (We don’t sing as a choir in the summer.) Well, someone (bless her) suggested this medley about being a child of God. I look. First and second songs were updated versions of old classics and good stuff. Third one?

“I’ve Been Adopted.”

I seriously thought I was going to pass out.

I understand, as a Christian, that some really, really like the analogy of being adopted by God into the family of believers. I get that. I respect it. I don’t want to sing the words, “I’ve been adopted.” I don’t want to. I don’t want to. I don’t want to. (Imagine much stomping of feet.)

In fact, I sang through the first two songs in the medley and wouldn’t even look at my book for the third song. Immature? Probably. Coping mechanism not to break down in a fit of tears? Definitely. Only made worse by a dear woman in the choir who likes to act out songs (but just in practice) saying that we could all dress up as foster children.

Now remember, I’m nauseous as all get out, right? It took all of my being not to throw up.

I know, I know. It’s because God took us into His family. But, the way I see it is that I was always a part of His family and I just had to make the decision to be an active member of the family. (Argue it with me, fine, but I refuse … REFUSE … to use adoption speak as an analogy for my faith. You can use it in yours. I will NOT in mine.)

Adoption does not hold fuzzy warm connotations for me. It doesn’t. That doesn’t mean that I don’t love my daughter. Pfft, duh. But it’s not something I sing about with a smile on my face. Adoption, the word itself, hangs so heavy when it’s mentioned in a news cast, a sitcom or in a “joke.” The word itself doesn’t make me thankful or grateful.

My only ONLY hope is that they sing it on one of the two Sundays were gone to Disney world: May 6th or… duh duh DUHHHHHHHHHHH … Mother’s Day. Because I will not sing it. I’m not there yet. Maybe I will be in 40 years…

But I doubt that I’ll ever feel “warm and fuzzy” when the word adoption is said.